


care and control

by cracktheglasses (cormallen)



Category: Star Wars Episode VII: The Force Awakens (2015)
Genre: Aftercare, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Anal Fingering, Dom/sub, Face-Fucking, Feelings, Insecurity, M/M, Nice Hux, Oral Sex, Possessive Hux, Spanking, Submissive Kylo Ren, Trans Character, Trans Kylo Ren, Vaginal Fingering
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-10-06
Updated: 2016-10-06
Packaged: 2018-08-19 20:48:39
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,869
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8224373
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/cormallen/pseuds/cracktheglasses
Summary: It’s a wide strip of dark brown leather, soft, already a bit worn at the edges, snapped shut over Ben’s wrist. It means Ben wants him. Ben needs him. He may not always be able to say it, but he means it every time he puts the cuff on, every time he puts himself into Hux’s care -- I'm yours.





	

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you so much to everyone I pestered endlessly in the writing of this -- [@artyaourter](http://artyaourter.tumblr.com/) (who also deserves a thank you for looking this over for me and for this round of semi-colon slaying), [@kyloream](http://kyloream.tumblr.com/), [@sinnotalone](https://sinnotalone.tumblr.com/) and [@the-garbage-chute](http://the-garbage-chute.tumblr.com/), I appreciate y'all so much!
> 
> A/N -- 6/20/17: This was my first time writing trans male Kylo | Ben; at the time, I was not too sure what language I'd be using to describe his genitals, and wasn't feeling very comfortable with my ultimate choice of terms. Since then, I've re-conceptualized my perception of anatomy a bit, and I think Ben would, as well. I've made a change in the text to reflect that. 
> 
> ARTYAOURTER DREW LOVELY AMAZING ART FOR THE FIC! [GO LOOK AT IT HERE](http://artyaourter.tumblr.com/post/152437161601/k-before-i-lose-my-nerve-happy-birthday)!

In the elevator up to the room, Ben pulls his hair out of its usual bun, elastic twisting, knotting, looping around long, nervous fingers. He tugs at the cuffs of his dress shirt, the sleeves of his suit jacket, like he’s trapped in it, which Hux thinks is probably the truth, or close to it. Ben hates wearing a suit, hates the tie, dark grey stripe -- he’s loosened it already, as soon as it was decent for him to do so.

“All right?” Hux asks, and Ben nods in response.

“Yeah,” he says hoarsely, and the restless movements of his hands quiet down, the fingers of the left clamping over his right wrist.

He doesn’t hate doing the conference overall, but he detests dressing up in business wear for it, all three days with no reprieve. Lets Hux pick out and pack the charcoal suit, the navy stripe, the pocket square in rich patterned burgundy. He didn’t ask Hux to help him prepare note cards this time, but Hux thinks he did quite well without them, confident, smart, to the point. Perhaps somewhat too short, but no one would expect Ben to wax loquacious; brevity is as much his trademark as is the messy hair, the folded arms, the half-slouch as he sits back down. As is Hux by his side, at the office, the airport, the banquet table, the hotel suite.

He makes Ben’s excuses as soon as the festivities portion of the evening begins winding down. Out of habit, he considers that perhaps he should be networking more, but it’s mostly the same people as last year, and he isn’t really looking for a change. He unclips his own nametag from his chest before reaching for Ben’s, slides the both of them into his case, vintage leather he’s owned for longer than he’s had the position as Ben’s assistant; in addition to his tablet, it fits notepad and extra pencils, water, Ben’s backup pair of glasses, sewing kit, umbrella, protein bars, two prescription bottles and one of generic ibuprofen.

He holds the keycard up to the lock. The other assistants sympathized with him over having to share with the boss; even a suite with extra couches, a foyer and unnecessarily large TV still meant always being on, and Hux shrugged, nodded, said something non-committal about work-life balance.

Ben resumes fidgeting as he waits, shifting his weight from foot to foot, fiddling with his shirt sleeve again, undoing and redoing the button. Hux glimpses it then, the familiar band of leather circling his wrist, and breathes in sharply. Wonders when Ben had the time to put it on.

It’s a wide strip of dark brown leather, soft, already a bit worn at the edges, snapped shut over Ben’s wrist. A cuff bracelet, perfectly ordinary; perhaps a bit eccentric, but hardly unusual for Ben. Nevertheless, it’s not anything he ever wears in public; he certainly didn’t have it on earlier when he got up to speak.

If he had, Hux would have noticed.

Ben had picked out the cuff himself, which Hux finds endearing, in a way. It’s not a declaration in words; Ben is painfully shy with words, especially words describing the cuff’s significance, but he is finally getting around to being comfortable enough to let it say it for him.

“I got this one. Here,” Ben had said the first time, holding it out to Hux’s proffered hands. “Tell me again what it’ll mean? When I put it on,” he’d specified, staring down at his own shoes, at the floor, anywhere but Hux, his fingers closing over the stiff, new leather.

Before he pushes open the door, Hux reaches back, feels for Ben’s wrist, slides a finger over the leather, to the warm sliver of skin between shirt sleeve and cuff. Ben shivers, but doesn’t say anything, just bows his head, chews at his lip.

That won’t do.

Hux ushers them inside, waits for the lock to click shut before he is pushing two fingers under Ben’s chin, forcing it up so he is staring Ben in the face, studying the angle of his jaw, the line of his nose, his liquid, wide-open eyes. Surprisingly, Ben doesn’t blush, the way he’d done for weeks to start, the way he’d sometimes do even recently.

“Ben, what is this?” he asks, circling his free hand over the bracelet, pressing the strip of leather roughly into Ben’s skin. With his other hand, he brackets Ben’s jaw, rubs his thumb over Ben’s soft cheek. He steps closer, crowding Ben into the door, close enough that he can feel Ben’s warmth against him, the flutter of heartbeat in his chest.

“It’s my. It’s -- it means I’m yours,” Ben stammers, and there is the blush, painting his cheeks a ragged pink. “I want -- I need,” he says, and Hux waits a beat before speaking, wondering if Ben will get it out on his own.

“What do you need, Ben?” he asks, watching Ben lick his lips, the tip of his tongue running over his mouth. Ben shakes his head, as much as Hux’s grip on his chin allows; the blush across his cheeks intensifies, a dark heated red Hux thinks he can almost feel under his palm.

“May I show you?” Ben asks finally. Hux studies him a moment longer before letting go.

“You may,” he allows, waits for Ben’s grateful nod. He then turns and goes through into the larger bedroom, sits down on Ben’s wide bed.

He hears Ben moving around in the outer room, the swish and rustle of clothes as he undresses, Ben’s shoes hitting the floor. Water runs in the bathroom, then turns off, objects being lifted and replaced on the bathroom counter.

Hux wonders what Ben will bring him, this time. It’s how it usually goes when Ben is too shy to tell him what he would like, but he can manage presenting it to Hux, kneeling in front of him with his hands out, supplicant, offering up something from the many things Hux has introduced him to. If Hux were a less kind person, he’d liken it to a dog fetching its leash when it wants to be let outside, but he is certain Ben would never forgive him if he voiced that out loud. Besides, unlike a dog, Ben thinks too much. Dogs don't question, don't wonder whether what they're told is painful, or humiliating. Ben does, blushing, hiding his face, unable to bring himself to speak, sometimes, not even when Hux orders him to.

Hux tries to praise him every time he voices a response, a need, a desire; does his best to coax more out of Ben than monosyllabic yes and no and please. Talks when Ben won’t: _want you on your knees, darling, open that pretty mouth for me, I’m going to fuck it. Look at how perfect it is, made just for me, don’t you want me to? Is that what you’d like, Ben? Want my cock down your throat? Tell me._ Ben can respond now, with _yes_ , with _please_ , _I want you to, Hux, please, let me suck you_ ; Hux pats his hair in approval before fitting his cock between Ben’s plush lips. Before, when they had just started, Ben would only moan, would reach for Hux, clearly wanting, but failing to force the words out.

They don’t have much in the way of the usual supplies with them when they travel. Hux has no desire to bring anything potentially suspect in his conference luggage, to have TSA searching through paddles or plugs or restraints. He is curious what Ben will come up with when he finally enters the bedroom, ready, stripped, down on his knees.

Ben being naked right away is the rule. Usually, he puts the cuff on after he’s undressed, the last step between outside Ben, everyone else’s Ben with the crossed arms and the terse voice and the crease down his forehead, and Hux’s Ben, relaxed, obedient. Soft, and eager to please. It is somewhat out of the ordinary for him to have put the cuff on so soon, before they’ve begun, before Ben’s asked for it, but it’s been a stressful, tense three days. Ben has practically been buzzing with the strain, it’s no wonder he wanted this, wanted to show Hux this is what he needed back at the room right away, not a night of the evening news, drinks, checking in for tomorrow’s flight.

“I’m yours,” Ben said at the door; he may not always be able to say it, but he means it every time he puts the cuff around his wrist, every time he puts himself into Hux’s care. Hux can see it in his face, in his bent shoulders, the curve of his neck. In the way Ben looks up at him when he kneels, reverent stare from under a flicker of lashes. In the way he glances at the bracelet sometimes, like he’s suddenly noticed it encircling his arm, like he can hardly believe he deserves to wear it. It sends a flood of electric warmth through Hux’s whole body, catching Ben’s eyes fixed on the leather cuff, a reminder that he wants this, that he asked for it, asks for it still, with words and hands and eyes and mouth.

Hux moves his hips against the bed, palms himself lightly through his trousers. His cock is half-hard, and he runs a fingertip down his fly, faint shiver passing through him as he thumbs at his cockhead under the layers of cloth. Thinks of Ben’s lips stretching around him, hot tongue lapping at the tip, slick, wet mouth tightening, sliding down until Ben is flush up against him, nose buried in his neatly trimmed pubic hair.

Ben asks for that often, more often than Hux could have imagined. Begs for Hux to put him on his knees, to feed his dick slowly between his opened lips, precome already dripping onto his waiting tongue. For Hux to use Ben’s mouth, roughly, ruthlessly, as Ben kneels, hands crossed behind his back, held together with his belt, his tie, his shirt half-unbuttoned, pulled down to his wrists. Asks for Hux to do it hard, push deeper, faster, gulps down on Hux’s dick until his lips sting with the effort, until his lashes are wet and glistening, tears forming in the corners of his tightly closed eyes. Hux presses his hips forward, buries himself in the hot, slippery clutch of Ben’s throat, fucks his mouth until Ben can’t breathe, can’t do anything but take it, pulse fluttering in his chest, his neck, the little vein at his temple.

It’s too much, too good, every time; Hux trembles, shakes, does his best not to come too soon, not before Ben is ready for it.

_Is this what you wanted, darling? Does it feel good? Do you like it?_ he asks, voice strained, and pulls back, pulls out, wraps his hand around the base of his dick, squeezing hard. Ben pants, nodding, his used, swollen lips still open. He lifts up as much as he is permitted, trying to follow Hux’s dick even as he pulls it away. It’s heavy, flushed dark red between his fingers, wet with Ben’s spit, and Hux gives it a careful, slow stroke, root to tip. Watches Ben for a few moments, the sweaty hair falling down into his face, his wide shoulders, his arms straining against the ties. His pink tongue licking at the divot of his lip, his dark, half-lidded eyes staring back at Hux’s cock; he may not say it out loud, but he needs this. Needs Hux to tell him how well he has done, how good he is being.

_There you go_ , he croons as he slides his dick back into Ben’s mouth, reveling in Ben’s almost palpable relief. _Take it, darling, there’s a good boy. Just suck it, use your tongue. Yes, just like that, so good for me._

Ben moans, tongue flattened, slurping eagerly at the underside of Hux’s cock, lips ringed tight over the shaft. Hux reaches down, thumbs at his mouth, at where his cock is pushing between Ben’s lips. He draws the pad of his thumb through the mess of drool and precome sliding down Ben’s chin, smears it around even more before wiping his fingers off on Ben’s cheekbone. He can feel his dick through Ben’s cheek as he slides his fingers up, feel himself thrusting inside, hard, thick, filling up Ben’s mouth.

He slides his other hand around Ben’s head, smooth strands of hair silky under his palm. He buries his fingers in it, gently, carefully, then suddenly clenches down, grabbing a heavy handful, using his grip to still Ben in place. Ben ceases moving at once, obedient, _good_ , and Hux pulls on his hair lightly, guides him back off his cock, leaving him empty once again.

Ben breathes heavily, nostrils flaring.

Hux smiles.

_What do you want, Ben?_ he asks, working his dick with his free hand. _Do you want me to come in your mouth? Or do you need something else?_

Ben blinks, bites down on his lower lip; Hux sees his throat working as he swallows nervously, trying to work himself up to saying it.

_My face_ , he whispers, and looks back down to Hux’s cock, the head dark, almost purple as Hux fists his hand up and down. _On my face, please, I want it._

Ben whimpers as Hux tugs on his hair again, pulls his face up so Ben is looking right up at him, blushing cheeks and wet, red mouth, tear tracks drying under his eyes. Hux jerks his hips forward, strips his dick faster, fist slapping into his thighs, his fingers slick, wet, sodden with precome and spit. Ben makes another soft noise as he tilts his head further back, offers his face up to Hux.

Hux’s thighs tremble, his balls almost painfully full; he gives his cock a few more hard strokes before he can’t keep it at bay anymore.

_Mine_ , he growls, coming, _my good boy, beautiful, take it, fucking take it, Ben_ , his hand stilling, gripping his cock as he stripes Ben’s face with his spunk. Spurts of it land on Ben’s puffy, swollen lips, his cheeks, his chin, the small scar over the bridge of his nose.

He likes to kiss Ben before he cleans him up, to taste himself on Ben’s tongue, his come sliding down Ben’s face, pressing sticky and wet between their cheeks. It should be unpleasant, the cooling streaks of it against his own face, but Hux finds the shared sensation intimate, close in a way that even fucking Ben’s perfect mouth isn’t. He lets himself breathe against Ben’s lips, still shivering slightly as he pulls Ben close. Ben lets him, pliant in his arms, lashes fluttering as Hux gently swipes the wet washcloth over his heated skin, cleans all the tacky, slimy mess away.

The sound of the bathroom door against the jamb snaps him out of the pleasant reverie; his pulse has sped up, his face warm, his cock fully hard inside his pressed trousers. He uncrosses his legs, leans back a bit to watch Ben enter, eyes catching on the wide expanse of Ben’s chest, the pale lines of scar tissue, his flat belly. His thick, muscled thighs and the soft dark curls at their apex, the wide band of the bracelet on his wrist. Ben drops to his knees a few steps over the threshold, unbidden, but perfectly practiced, crawls the rest of the way towards Hux, careful not to let the the hairbrush he holds in his hands touch the carpet. He holds it out to Hux once he is close enough, their fingers touching as Hux accepts the offer, and then rests back on his heels, waiting.

“Thank you, Ben,” Hux says, surveying the brush. It’s the wide bamboo paddle brush with the boar bristles. Ben can’t stand combs or plastic brushes, and Hux has used this one and its smaller counterpart on him more than a few times, slowly working the bristles through Ben’s hair until it’s soft and glossy, curling loosely over his ears, the nape of his neck. Ben likes having his hair brushed out, relaxing against Hux’s shoulder as Hux sifts his fingers through the strands, separating the heavy mass into sections, taking the brush to them one by one. He pulls a little occasionally, listening for the slight gasp, the intake of breath. Ben rumbles deep in his chest, satisfied, leans into Hux, a heavy, pleasant weight.

He’s used the brush on Ben in a few other ways, as well, ones that he likes perhaps even better. Ben’s skin is baby-soft, delicate; he blushes easily, bruises easily, dark purple prints of Hux’s mouth staying for days on his throat, his arms. The boar bristles leave raised red lines on his inner thighs as Hux spreads his legs apart, drags the brush from his knees up up up, until Ben sniffles, mewls, but doesn’t try to press his thighs back together. The flat, wooden side of the brush marks Ben’s ass, the backs of his legs, as Hux brings it down onto the tender spots, Ben’s long, lean body stretched out, the curve of his ass thrust up into the air.

It’s what Ben wants; Hux can tell from the way his eyes flick from the brush in his hand to his lap. He wants Hux to pull him over his knees, head down into the mattress, to spank him with the hard edge of the brush, letting the ache build until it’s all he can feel. Until he's emptied of everything else, the radiating, hot hurt his only anchor.

Hux’s interested cock twitches, pulses inside his pants, the stretchy cloth of his underwear almost too much; he wills himself to calm, and pats the space on the bed next to him.

“Up on the bed, darling,” he says, bidding Ben to move. “Come sit with me.”

Ben unfolds slowly; it’s not the command he was expecting, and he clambers up onto the bed with reluctance, fidgets as he settles, chewing on his full bottom lip.

“Hux,” he starts, “Hux, I need -- ”

Hux wraps an arm around his ribs, brackets his warm, familiar shape from behind.

“I know,” he says, leaning in so he’s talking right up against Ben’s ear, low, precise, articulating every word. “I know what you need.”

He feels Ben relax slightly; his shoulders slump, the tense line of his back softening against Hux’s chest.

“Here’s what’s going to happen,” Hux continues quietly, breath whuffing over the delicate curve of Ben’s ear. The skin is so thin there, stretched taut; Hux can’t help running a fingertip over it, the little fold of cartilage at the top.

“You’re going to lie down over my lap. Hands out in front of you; if you can keep them still, we’ll leave them untied. You’re going to lift your ass up for me, like a good boy; can you do that, Ben?”

Ben nods once, twice, leaves his head bowed, the knobs of his spine standing out stark at the top of his back.

“I’m going to spank you,” Hux tells him, shifting his hand to the nape of Ben’s neck, tracing a little circle over the skin. Ben’s loosened hair is soft where his fingers catch it, the long strands and the short baby curls at the neckline. He scratches down with his nails, pink trails forming in their wake.

“I’ll be using the brush, first, then my hand. You haven’t done anything wrong; this isn’t a punishment, so you’re not going to count the strikes. Just going to lie still, that perfect little ass up in the air for me, and take it, just like you need.”

He digs his thumbnail into Ben’s nape, hard.

“Ben. Darling. Do you understand?”

“Yes, Hux,” Ben says, voice breathy and thick; Hux grabs a handful of his hair and pulls, guiding him down over his lap. Ben shifts easily this time, stretches out his arms, shoulder blades rolling under the skin. He lolls his head forward, tips his ass back and up, as instructed, legs slightly spread.

“Open up a bit more. Let me see you,” Hux orders, and Ben obeys, lets his thighs fall open further. He’s wet already, the folds of his cunt slick and glistening, flushed dark pink where they press together in an almost demure little line. Hux reaches over, drags his knuckles down Ben’s slit, pushing it open, feeling the swollen edges of his lips part as he rubs his hand through the slippery wetness. He grinds his knuckles in until Ben whimpers, head tossing back sharply. He moves under Hux’s hand, thighs flexing, ass pushing up higher. Hux can feel the soft, hot give of his cunt as he circles his entrance; he unfolds his fingers and slides the tip of one just inside. Ben’s muscles all seem to clench as if in alarm, and he makes another noise, a throaty, ragged moan that goes directly to Hux’s cock, making it jerk, pulse out a splatter of precome into his boxer briefs.

He ignores his dick and presses his finger sharply forward, sliding it all the way into Ben’s body; Ben clenches, squeezes down like he is trying to suck it in deeper. Hux rocks his finger in and out a few times, feels the hot, velvety flutter of Ben’s cunt on each push back inside.

Ben’s face is red, the color spreading down his throat, his chest. He bows his head back down into the bedspread as Hux keeps fucking him steadily with just one finger, then presses in a second, crossing them inside, rubbing the tips into the spongy softness. It sends more slick gushing into his hand, his fingers making a wet squelching noise as he speeds up, stretches up inside Ben, curling, uncurling, going deep.

Ben mewls into the quilt, palms flat on the covers; Hux can see his arms trembling with the effort of keeping them still. He is trying to keep his hips as steady as he can, but he can’t help pushing up into Hux’s hand, lifting up in his lap as he is being fucked. His thighs are going rigid, tensing up; Hux gives him another firm little rub inside, then draws his fingers out.

Ben whines at the loss; his opened up cunt is dark, blood-hot, clenching slightly around nothing. Hux doesn’t make him wait, grasps for the brush where it sits on the bedcovers, and brings it down sharply over Ben’s ass.

The flat wooden side connects with a dull smack; Ben howls, jerks in Hux’s lap, and gets another spank over the same spot, then one more, a little to the right. The pale skin of his ass pinkens up almost immediately, and he squirms under the next three blows, hands grasping at the quilt.

Hux pauses, letting him catch his breath, and pets gently at the small of his back.

“Settle,” he says, and waits for Ben to adjust before he lifts up the brush again. Two blows land in quick succession on Ben’s right cheek, new redness blooming underneath, another pause before he returns to the left side, brings his hand down harder than before.

Ben is making continuous noises now, pained little gasps and grunts as Hux paddles him with the brush, alternating sides, the rhythm evening out, getting steadier. He isn’t supposed to be keeping count, but he is; he knows Ben can take about twenty like this before it gets to be too much to continue. He can take more with hands. Warm. Personal. Close.

Hux switches to his hand at seventeen and almost groans right along with Ben. His ass is red-hot under Hux’s touch, hips sliding heavily against Hux’s hard, aching dick.

“You’re doing so well,” he babbles, giving Ben’s cheek another quick, stinging smack. “My sweet boy, look at you. Just a few more, darling, you can take it, Ben, baby.”

Twenty-six and Ben cries out, shaking, trembling, grinding down uncontrollably into Hux’s lap. Hux counts the rest down in his head, seven, eight, nine, thirty, Ben’s skin feeling like it’s on fire under his hand. He lets his fingers rest over the curve of Ben’s ass as he finally stops. Runs his hand over Ben’s cheeks, gently cupping each one in turn.

“Darling,” he says, heart pounding in his chest.

Ben whines softly in response and lifts his head from the bed, looks up at Hux through wet lashes.

“Please, Hux,” he says, voice cracking. “Your mouth, may I please have your mouth?”

It’s not what Hux intended, but Ben is perfect in his desperation, and he asks so well. Hux can't deny him anything.

“Of course,” Hux tells him, hand still petting carefully over his aching, suffering ass. “Yes, baby, happily.”

He helps Ben shift onto his back, reclined against the pillows. Ben breathes hard, hitches his lip between his teeth as he settles on the bed, lowering his ass gingerly to the covers. Hux allows him to fidget a bit before grabbing a pillow.

“Lift up,” he instructs, nudging at Ben’s thigh, and slides the pillow under his hips. He lets the edge of his hand brush up against Ben's bottom, a deliberate motion, just to hear Ben's breath stutter again at the contact.

He kisses his way up to Ben's cunt, rubs his chin and cheeks into the sensitive, thin skin of his thighs. His stubble isn't that bad yet, but it's enough; Ben squirms, ticklish, skin pebbling with gooseflesh and pink burn. Hux pulls his legs further apart and nuzzles into his curls, soft under his lips, gleaming wetly with Ben’s arousal.

He breathes in Ben's scent, Ben's cunt tart-sweet and warm, and can't control a soft growl that escapes his throat, the throb of his clothed cock where it's trapped against the bed. He presses a quick, inelegant kiss to Ben's mound, lips coming away slick as he pulls back, and eases Ben open with his thumbs. Runs his tongue firmly down his middle, from the hard little knot of his cock to his soaked, dripping entrance.

Ben reacts in an instant, moaning plaintive and loud. His thighs tense and clench around Hux's face, and Hux pushes back at them with his hands.

“None of that. Hold still for me, there's my sweet boy,” he says, and curls his tongue into Ben's slick opening, points it to trace right around the inside. His mouth is full of Ben's taste, sharp, just a little bitter, and his belly squeezes with a sudden pull of want, the need to take, claim, possess.

He slides two fingers into Ben alongside his tongue until they're coated slippery wet, dripping when he eases them out and trails lower, seeking for the tight delicate furl of Ben's asshole. He rubs the pads of his fingers over Ben's taut, silky rim, spreading the slick around, and then pushes in firmly, both fingers at once, the way Ben likes, his hole giving way, stretching open for him.

Above him, Ben keens, back arching, head lolling back onto the cushions. Hux wraps his mouth firmly around Ben's cock and sucks, swirls his tongue over the top as he pumps his fingers into his yielding ass.

Ben shudders and tenses again, and this time Hux lets him, keeps his lips working over his cock, the tip of his tongue dipping lightly under the hood. He can't get enough of Ben like this, eager, loose, loud, hips rocking down hard to ride Hux's mouth. _Mine_ , he thinks, looking up at Ben’s scarlet, sweaty face, his hair a dark tangle around his shoulders. Ben is beautiful like this, _mine, mine, mine_ , and Hux flattens his tongue, licks Ben hard and fast, short, forceful swipes, until Ben is panting, grasping for his face with desperate hands.

“Please, Hux, may I come?”

He could say no. Could pull back, tell Ben not yet, tease him with soft, gentle touches that send him trembling, trying to hold on. Could forbid it altogether, order Ben back over his lap, spank him with his hands, with the brush again, until he is swollen and raw. He has before; Ben has obeyed each time, no matter how close he was, how needy, how strung out. Delicious to watch, to touch with insufficient, barely there strokes.

He has, before; will do it again, but not tonight. Tonight, he wants to see Ben fall apart.

He lifts up from Ben's cunt, fingers still working, sliding noisily in and out of his asshole. He meets Ben's eyes as he takes his free hand, lets it hover, palm down, over his slick-shiny, swollen cock.

“Please,” Ben repeats, begging. “Please, Hux, please.”

“Yes, darling, you may come,” Hux says, and brings his palm down on Ben's cunt, hard.

Ben yells out and convulses, ass clenching, clamping down onto Hux's fingers, cunt pulsing, fluttering, as Hux spanks it again, heavy open palm slaps over Ben's mound, his cock, his hot, plump folds.

Ben lets out a harsh, heaving sob, whole body spasming, slick clear fluid gushing down, soaking his thighs, Hux's hand, the bedspread. The muscles in his legs twitch and jump still, even as he begins to come down, slowly going limp against the mattress. Hux leans in and kisses him on his mouth, his cheek, his jaw, damp and salty with sweat.

He keeps watching Ben as he straightens to undo the buttons of his dress shirt, the zipper of his trousers. Ben is languid and soft, trustingly unguarded. Naked, yes, but exposed somehow beyond that, open just to Hux, given to his care, to his control.

Hux removes his clothes, shucking them off to the floor. Stripped, he kneels up over Ben, almost straddling his chest. Hand wrapped tightly around his dick, he slowly rolls his hips, traces at Ben’s lips with the tip of it, barely pushing into Ben’s warm mouth. Ben opens up obediently, and Hux fits just his cockhead inside his lips, rocks forward in measured little thrusts. Ben sighs softly, a small rush of air over his dick, and licks at the crown of it, tongue probing at the slit, curling around the ridge underneath.

Hux moves forward again and goes deeper, feels the careful pressure of Ben’s teeth, top lip pulled over the edges, Ben’s tongue drawing slow figure eights around the head of his dick.

He begins to stroke himself with his hand, knuckles bumping into Ben’s lip on each down; Ben intensifies the licking, the suction, tighter, firmer. One of his hands comes up, gripping Hux’s hip, holding him steady as he jerks himself off against Ben’s satin-smooth mouth.

“Ben,” he says, “ah, fuck,” and snaps his hips, thrusting hard into the ring of his fist, cockhead bumping into the roof of Ben’s mouth. Ben hums happily, the vibration of sound sending tremors through his cock, his balls, the pit of his stomach.

“Mine. So perfect, my Ben, so good,” he says, and Ben lifts up, tips his head forward and takes more of his dick inside, lips rubbing against him in a tight, slippery ring.

Hux can’t control himself for too much longer, Ben sucking him so well, helping his hand along. His dick slides obscenely from his grip into Ben’s mouth, in and out, his hips pistoning forward. He steadies himself with one hand against the headboard and arches his back, strokes shortening, becoming more ragged the closer he gets to the edge.

His cock throbs in his hand, jerking, pulsing; he moans so loudly when he comes it’s almost a scream. A wild animal noise as he floods Ben’s mouth with come, thick wet spurts as Ben tries to swallow around him. He can feel it sliding from his slit, filling Ben up full, too much to fit inside, leaking down from the corners of Ben’s lips.

He kisses it up from Ben’s mouth after he’s had a moment to breathe, arms and legs barely holding him up anymore.

“Come here,” Ben says, spreading his arm out on the bed in invitation. Hux slides down his body slowly, fits himself up against Ben’s side, head resting on his bicep. Ben pats him awkwardly with his other hand, and cradles him closer, letting his eyes fall shut.

They lie like that for a few minutes; against Ben’s ribcage, Hux feels his heartbeat slow down, even out from its frenzied tattoo. He counts Ben’s breaths, full and deep, trying to match his own to the rhythm.

“Early wake-up tomorrow,” he says finally, quietly. Ben stirs, turns his head on the pillow, opens one dark hazel eye, then grudgingly, the other.

“All right. Will you set the alarm?”

“Already done,” Hux tells him, untangling himself just enough to rummage on the nightstand, coming up with the bottle of aloe gel he’s left there earlier. “You want to flip over for me?”

Ben moves obediently to his stomach, lets Hux inspect his ass, still dark pink in the wake of the spanking. There is some light bruising from the brush, and Hux makes sure to spread the aloe evenly over the worst of it, rubbing the cool gel into Ben’s tender skin.

That done with, he gets up from the bed, picking up his discarded clothes, and deposits them into his bag before coming back to pour Ben a glass of water. He watches Ben drink it, throat working, then fills it back up again and sets it on the nightstand.

“Thank you,” Ben says with a small smile. “I -- that was perfect. Thank you, Hux.”

“Of course,” Hux replies; the bed dips as he stands back up again, preparing to return to his own room, his own bed just on the other side of the wall. He reaches for the cuff on Ben’s wrist first, lets his fingers caress the leather for a quick second.

“I’ll help you take that off. Would you like me to put it in your bag?”

Ben licks his lips, chews a little on the tip of his tongue, on his bottom lip, like he does when he is trying to work himself up to asking something. Hux pauses, waiting for him to get it out.

“I want to keep wearing it,” he says finally, meeting Hux’s gaze. “Will you please stay? I need -- maybe -- not the whole night, if you don’t want to. But will you stay with me? Please.”

Hux looks down at him, at his plaintive eyes, the sharp line of his nose. Ben shifts, scoots over a little on the bed, making room like Hux has already agreed. His hair is spread out on the pillow around him like a strange, wild halo, his still-flushed chest rising and falling with his breaths, and something in Hux clenches up at the sight, makes him sit back down, almost without hesitation.

_Mine_ , he thinks, and runs his hand down Ben’s side, from the bony jut of his hip up to the crook of his elbow, the skin there soft and delicate and warm.

“Yes, Ben, darling,” he answers. “Yes. I’ll stay.”

**Author's Note:**

> feel free to [hit me up on tumblr](http://cracktheglasses.tumblr.com/), as always.


End file.
